Never Coming Home
by How Clever of You
Summary: Spoilers for 2.14, "One Wrong Move." Spike tries to pick up the pieces. Angst. Rated for language. Thanks to LiveLaughLoveFP for the title!


The house seemed so empty, even with all the clutter. There was a coat hanging on the rack in the hall, right above the bowl, empty of keys. There were a stack of bills next to that, thrown carelessly in passing. The table was wooden – cherry, maybe.

There was a blanket on the couch, magazines on the table, and a basket of laundry - clean, unfolded – on the floor. Two matching slippers and a water bottle. The TV – a hand-me-down, almost certainly – still had its antennas up, wrapped in foil in hopes of getting a better signal.

The bed was unmade, and the alarm clock blinked 5:43 pm. There was a pile of dirty clothes in the corner, and the closet doors were open. A suitcase, not yet put away, was leaning against the wall. The toilet seat was up in the adjoining bathroom and there was toothpaste in the sink.

None of that fazed Spike. Then he saw the half-empty cereal bowl sitting on the kitchen table.

That was when he realized that, no – that breakfast would never be finished. The 2% milk in the fridge and the free-range brown eggs would spoil, and the box of baking powder shoved in the back would no longer be able to mask the smell. The bed wouldn't be made, the toothpaste would harden on the porcelain of the sink, and the laundry would never be put away.

Spike couldn't stand it.

He grabbed the bowl off the table, blinded briefly by the tears in his eyes, and hit the faucet on. He cried as he scrubbed the bowl clean, dried it, and put it away. Then he stormed out, grabbed the basket in the living room and set it on the bed. He folded it, carefully, and put it away.

He scrubbed the sink. Closed the open bottle of Pantene in the shower. Flipped down the toilet seat. Rearranged the foil on the television, so that when he got home –

But he wasn't coming home.

He sat down heavily on the couch and stared at his hands. There were a stack of pictures on the coffee table, next to two beer bottles. One empty, the other half-full.

The pictures were from Jamaica, identical to the ones he had been passed the morning before.

He could not take this any longer.

He shouted, screamed, yelled at the top of his lungs. He threw the photos at the wall, knocked over the antique vase, kicked a box of Kleenex across the floor. He tore the pillows off the couch and threw them, as hard as he could, in any direction they would fly. He buffeted a painting off the wall and kicked the table, unable to contain the rage that Lewis had left him with.

There was an empty gnawing sensation in Spike's gut, a huge gaping hole right in his core, exposing his stomach. He collapsed to the floor, curling in upon himself, trying to stop the pain. Anything to stop the pain.

His best friend ever, in the entire world – the only person he trusted more than he trusted himself. He had left. He had chosen to shift his weight, to give up, to stop trying. Spike had been so close. He was almost there, just in reach of the solution, and –

Sam had no faith. Sam said _you couldn't have done anything_. There was no way that this could be true. There's always a way – there's no need for his best friend to be brought down, not when he was standing right there, forming a rescue plan in his head. Not even in his head, no – he was executing it, while his team members stood by in silence.

Jules said _I'm sorry_, like she had been trying. But she hadn't been. She had stood there, watching, as Spike tried to pull everything together. She watched as he talked Lewis down. Or was he talking himself down?

Boss said _it's not your fault._ It was, though. He shouldn't have let Lewis go to the bomb. He should have talked him through disarming the one in the warehouse and gone to the site instead, and then everything would have been okay –

Ed said _it happens to the best of us._

Wordy said _I know he meant a lot to you._

And Lewis said nothing. Stupid, fucking Lewis said –

Spike cried.


End file.
